User blog comment:Biggren/The Mice of Wintor/@comment-3135907-20160718225616/@comment-3135907-20170425204747

Hours swirled by. Rancin at last opened his frozen chops to speak and immediately regretted it, taking in a great mouthful of snow and gagging. Leaning forward with paws on knees, the stoat spat out what he could of the choking sleet and gasped to Eminear's back, "Gormed weather! We'll never make it o'er the pass in this deathwind, Cap'n. Lissen to that, Krigg's got frostbite! Devil's tail, Cap'n, it's camp here and lose a few hours or go on an' lose a few lives. I ain't tellin' ye how to do yer job, but..."